Vindication
by K'Arthur
Summary: --Pre-Game/Great War Era--Schwann x Casey x Yeager-- Even he wanted to, Schwann couldn't go back to yesterday. He was a different person then.
1. Prologue

_A/N: For my Canadian Girls._

**Vindication**

Prologue

* * *

It was wrong, damn it.

It was wrong and he could stop it, but he didn't want to. The instant she'd touched his cheek it was already too late for him to retreat. As selfish as it was, he missed her too much. What had led to this--the tiny cabin they'd been assigned to share on the ship? Too much reminiscing? Too much wine?

Probably all of it. But it didn't matter. He really didn't care _how_ it happened. Not right now, at least.

Moments before, he'd stood there as if called to attention. In a soft voice that wavered between anguished and authoritative, he told her despite all that had happened in the past five years he still loved her and he always would, even though he knew she was promised to another.

She looked at him curiously and stepped closer. The nearer she moved, the more rigid his stance became. It was if she was holding his breath in her grasp, for he dared not to exhale as she placed an affectionate hand on the side of his face. A sigh, and then a whisper, "I know, Schwann. And I still love you."

He grit his teeth and fought against the words that tempted to break his emotionless expression.

She tilted her head, her thumb pushing gently on his chin in an attempt to force him to meet her gaze. "It's like buying a new shield. It's shiny and while it protects you, often you find yourself wishing for the one you grew up and trained with. That one is comfortable and it makes you feel secure."

He held his stance, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Her touch was burning his soul as he fought to stare beyond her. "So I am an old, rusty shield to you?"

"In the most respectful and tender sense," she answered, brushing a stray lock of his dark hair from his face.

At that, his visage softened and his eyes met hers, but he dared not move. Not with her this close.

She reached around his neck, her fingertips deftly teasing the fine hairs along the nape. "I've missed you."

"This is wrong," he whispered, his fists finally unfolding as he placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not push her back nor turn away. No, he just stood there, knowing that if he gave in to this it would only cause regret.

She slipped her arms down around his waist and rested her head on his chest. "Then, let it be wrong."

"Casey," her name fell from his lips plaintively, his brow furrowing in torment. He knew he couldn't trust himself.

Lifting her head, she tripped her lips across his, fighting the thin, taunt line he was forcing them to hold. And then, she murmured between hitched breaths. "I want you."

He was close to defeat. With a slight whimper, he parted his lips just enough for her to taste the warmth of his breath. No more.

If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. There were other ways, after all. She besieged his neck with flicks of her tongue in slow succession, wandering them towards his ear, each one warming his face and begging him to sin. When her lips found their destination, she nipped the lobe teasingly. "Schwann…"

A sigh of frustration slipped from him. Now she wasn't fighting fair; this was too much. She knew his weaknesses and she knew how to fully exploit them. It was coming time to surrender and worry about the consequences later. His eyes closed and he relaxed in her arms long enough to entwine a hand in her dusty blonde hair. Turning her chin towards him, his eyes slipped closed, posed to finally kiss her. "Are you sure?" he asked, each word anxiously trembling in the space between the two of them.

Her response was to claim his lips in an ardent, passionate kiss as her hands splayed wide against his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling him even closer.

After that, he resisted no more.


	2. Chapter 1

**Vindication**

Chapter One

* * *

_**Ten years ago…  
**_

It was worth it, damn it.

Schwann sat cross-legged on the rough plank in the castle dungeon. It wasn't so bad, and despite being stuck there for a fortnight, he was content. It had been a long time coming and today just happened to be the wrong day for Cumore to pick a fight.

Cumore. His name just made Schwann seethe with hatred. Born to one of the highest ranked families in the nobility, Cumore was a snob, plain and simple. He lacked any sort of skill with a blade—or anything else for that matter—but was still one of the few squires selected for officer training. He was so arrogant that he didn't even bother to hide the fact that he'd bought his way in. No, he _flaunted_ it.

Lying back on the plank of a bed, Schwann smiled to himself, remembering the instant his fist crushed the other boy's nose. The twisting of cartilage and subsequent splash of blood was nothing short of poetic. The crowd cheered but that couldn't drown out the whimpering, sniveling cries of pain coming from Cumore. _And that_, Schwann thought, _was most definitely the best part._

A familiar voice called his name and he sat up to see Casey standing there. Dressed in simple clothes and carrying a burlap pack, it was hard to believe his closest friend was actually the daughter of a nobleman.

"So you're a criminal now?" she teased.

"It was worth it."

"I know. I wish I had been the one to do it, though."

He grinned. "Beat you to it." Standing up, he leaned on the wall near the bars. "I just hope I didn't anger the Commandant too much."

"Well," she said, a smirk tingling her lips as she lowered her voice. "When I walked by his quarters, I heard him telling his Captains about it. They were laughing. I guess they're all sick of Cumore, too."

"Then I guess it was more of a public service than a crime."

"Yeah," Casey replied. "Seriously." Sitting down on the cold stones outside the cell, she opened her pack. "I brought you something to eat. I figure even what they cook up in the mess hall is better than prisoner's rations."

He smiled and sat opposite her. "Thanks."

Casey handed him a sandwich and kept one for herself. "Tuna fish."

"My favorite."

"Consider it a reward," she smiled. "Though, when I get my turn at him, I'll stick him full of arrows."

"Always got to one-up me, don't you?" Schwann teased between bites. "Damn, this is good."

"I didn't make it," she answered, setting the sandwich down just long enough to secure her long blonde hair in a ponytail. "And of course I have to outdo you. Keeps you honest. I can't have you going on to make Captain and leaving me in the dust."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Not going to happen. I firmly believe that anyone with a rank above Lieutenant is a horse's ass. And, that's one thing I don't want to be."

"A captain or a horse's ass?" She raised a mocking brow at him. "I think you have already mastered the latter. Or, at least that's what the gardener girl told me. Apparently, I need to teach you how to flirt."

He sighed. "Yes, I'm not putting that one in the win column."

Mimicking his voice, she said, "Do you have a map because I keep getting lost in your eyes." Then, after an amused shake of her head, she added: "That was the worst thing I've ever heard. I mean, really? Where did you come up with that?"

"I heard one of the knights saying it to a maid."

"Where?"

"At the tavern."

"No more learning how to get dates in the tavern for you," Casey giggled, offering him an apple.

"Yeah," he said, taking the fruit. "I'm not doing that again."

"Though," she tapped her chin in false thought. "I think it was better than your behavior with the quartermaster's daughter and her prissy friends. I hope I've taught you proper manners since then."

He wanted to sink into the floor. "Let's not relieve that. I was…what…thirteen?"

"Two years isn't long enough to forget _that_," she said, giving him a wink. "I'm just glad you've learned that females don't think belching contests are attractive."

"Such abuse," he replied, feigning injury. "We all make mistakes."

She laughed. A comfortable silence held between them as they ate their sandwiches and fruit. After awhile, she retrieved a canteen from the pack and stared at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, noticing how her demeanor had changed.

Her brow furrowed and she passed him the canteen, but didn't meet his eyes. "Is it true what Cumore said?"

"About what?" he answered, taking a drink before passing it back to her.

She looked up at him. "About your family?"

His head dropped, his dark hair curtaining his eyes. "Yes."

"All of it?"

He nodded. "Yes, my mother was a scullery maid who worked in a noble's house. She and him…well…they had an affair. When my father learned my mother was pregnant, he wanted nothing to do with her. He threw her out of his household and she returned to the Lower Quarter. That's where I was born." A long sigh slipped from his lips. "And that's why Cumore hates me so much. The bastard son of a nobleman being allowed in the knights is some kind of personal insult to him."

"Schwann…I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he shrugged.

She tilted her head. "Did you ever meet your father?"

He dragged a distracted finger across the smooth stone floor of his cell. "After my mother died, I went to his home and told him who I was and that she was dead. He cursed at me and told me never to come back."

"How old were you?"

"It was right before I joined the knights, so thirteen."

She sighed. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Nothing to really tell, I guess."

Raising a brow at him, she asked, "Were you afraid I would look down on you, too?"

"No, Casey," he said, looking back up at her. "I know you're one of the good ones."

"Yeah, something like that," she replied, offering the canteen again. "Besides, remember that Cumore and his friends hate me, too. Probably more so."

He took another drink. "Right because you 'don't act like a noble.' I hope you take that as a compliment."

"I do," she said with a smile. "The class system in the Empire is ridiculous. They should take some cues from the Guilds."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, kneeling close to the bars to hand her the canteen. "I don't know much about the Guilds, though. How do you?"

"They're quite interesting. I read about them," she said a little too quickly. "But enough of that." Rising up to her knees she gripped the bars of his cell and met his eyes. "You really impressed me today, Schwann."

Her tone had changed when she said that, or at least he heard that last sentence differently. The words were tender and yet there seemed to be a drawl of sensuality behind them. He'd heard her speak that way to boys she liked, but never to him. "Umm…thanks," he answered nervously holding the canteen up between them.

She reached in and took it, her hand lilting just a bit too long over his as she gave him a warm smile.

He'd waited for this moment for months. How he'd longed to tell her that he wanted to think of her as more than just a friend but he'd been terrified to broach the subject lest she reject him. Now, blissfully, that fear seemed quashed.

Leaning his forehead against the bars, he watched her dark eyes dart back and forth, mirroring his own glances. He wasn't really sure how to kiss a girl, let alone through bars in a cell, but fortunately she took care of that.

Parting the bit of hair that hung in his face, she brushed her lips against his. It wasn't more than a caress, a chaste bit of a kiss, but it tickled every last nerve in his body.

Stepping back, she smiled at him, her cheeks red with color. "It's easier when there aren't bars in the way."

"Yeah," he answered, feeling the blush spreading over his face. "When I get out of here, I'm kissing you for real."

She winked and pressed the tip of his nose playfully. "If I let you." Rising, she sighed, "I'll bring you supper again tomorrow, but I better get back before lights out."

"Yeah…" he said, standing up and reaching to take her hand and kiss it. "Good night."

"Night, Schwann," she touched his cheek and then turned to leave. A few steps further and she glanced over her shoulder to smile at him before ascending the stairs.

He watched her go, holding his hand to the spot on his face where she had placed her hand. It seemed to tingle with warmth, wanting more of her touch. Sitting back on the plank, he wondered if the temperature in the dungeon had risen ten degrees.

Suddenly a fortnight seemed like a _very_ long time.


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks to ShadowSage2 for betaing._

**Vindication**

Chapter Two

**

* * *

**

_**Eight years ago…**_

It was awkward, damn it.

It was inevitable that it would be like this, one of these days. He'd been waiting and wanting this for so long, and now, he could have _her_. He'd imagined how it would be, how it would happen, how it would feel. But it wasn't perfect.

He'd wanted their first night together to be something special, something romantic. And it was, but it was still awkward. Seeing her so vulnerable and _being_ so vulnerable to her was intimidating and beautiful at the same time. He liked to believe he pleased her even though he felt clumsy and unsure of himself. Though, they were both at the same disadvantage since Casey—who was generally better versed in such things—was just as nervous and naïve.

He'd been in her room many times before, but never overnight. All the rooms were the same. A bed, a dresser, a chair, a desk and a lamp. Nothing special, all practical. Hers felt different this time, though. In then darkness, things seemed so serene, ethereal, even. The fire lilies she kept in a vase on the dresser created eerie shadows on the wall that seemed to watch them. Rain pelting the window sounded like impatient knocks on the door. Fortunately, he didn't let either of these annoyances deter him.

Exhausted but too nervous lying beside her to sleep, he couldn't help but think how perfectly she fit in his arms. He played with her hair and brushed it off her neck and out of his face. Mesmerized by the tiny, imperfect freckles on her back, he touched each one as if making a game out of connecting them. But one of the marks high on her back wasn't a freckle—it was a small, red tattoo of an arrow.

"Casey," he murmured into her ear. "What's this mark?"

She rolled out of his grasp and covered herself in the top sheet. "It's nothing."

"It's a guild tattoo, isn't it?"

She didn't answer him.

He nearly choked in disbelief on his words. "Are you…a spy for the guilds?"

"No," she spat. "Of course not!"

"Then why do you have this mark?"

"I can't tell you, but I can promise you I'm not a spy."

"Don't you trust me?" the question seemed so simple but he knew it was completely manipulative.

She glanced back over her shoulder. "Schwann, if there was ever a time that I needed you to trust me, it's right now."

His eyes closed and his brow furrowed in distress. "After all we've been through, Casey. After last night…I thought we weren't going to keep secrets."

"If I tell you," she said, rolling over to face him. "You must swear on your life that you will not tell a soul."

"Yes," he said, propping his head up on the pillow with his elbow.

"Swear it!"

"I swear it."

She twirled one of his long bangs around her finger. "Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a knight. But for people like me, that's easier said than done."

"People like you?"

She took a long breath before looking him in the eyes. "My family is involved with a guild. That's why I wear their mark."

"Which one?" he asked, not that it mattered. All guilds were enemies of the empire.

"Altosk." At his confused look, she added, "Some people call it Heaven's Arrow."

"I guess that explains why you're so damn deadly with a bow," he said, trying not to frown. He knew that guild members must renounce their citizenship and all of its privileges in favor of their self-created laws. Although there hadn't been a war between the two factions, skirmishes were rather frequent and the hatred ran deep. Thus, to be a trustworthy knight and a loyal member of a guild would be impossible. It killed him to admit it, but even as amazing as Casey was, she was no exception to that rule.

"I learned to shoot as soon as I could walk," she glanced away. "Most children born into guilds are taught to fight that young."

"I see. And the mark? It was given to you as a child?"

"Yes, I was so young I don't remember it. It's probably best that way. I've heard it's kind of painful." She sighed, "Though if you join a guild later in life, you will wear their mark."

"Do all guilds have them?" he asked, not that he cared for the answer. He just wanted to hear her voice and remind himself that in the past few minutes she hadn't changed, even if everything he knew about her did.

"Most do. Those that are involved in combat, at least. It serves a purpose."

"What purpose?"

She curled herself against his chest. "Should a guild member fall in battle, the enemy will know where to deliver their body. It would be considered disrespectful not to bring the dead back to their families."

"So I guess there's honor among thieves and murderers," he muttered.

"We are _not_ thieves," she pushed away from him and glowered. Her words were so sharp they nearly cut off his nose. "Some guilds may be thieves but my father's guild is one the stands to protect people. No respectable member of the Union would commit murder—at least not against another guild member. It is strictly forbidden."

"Wait, just listen to yourself. It's fine to kill knights but not other guild members, no matter if they are thieves or murderers?" he asked, a slight edge of disgust forming on his words.

"If they are a member of the Union, then no," she said quickly, the burn of anger rising in her tone. "The courtesy generally extends beyond to others, though. If I were to go out and take down the leader of say, Ruin's Gate just for the hell of it, I would have a full scale guild war on my hands."

He considered a moment. "What is Ruin's Gate?"

"They excavate ruins and blastia. Hardly murderers and thieves as you so eloquently put it."

He snorted. "So they're grave robbers. That's a step up."

"Is being an asshole something you like to do after we sleep together?" she said, snatching the top sheet off the bed to cover herself as she stood up. "If so, just get out."

"Casey…"

"Just go back to your room, Schwann," she turned away, her voice straining against checked emotions. "I thought you were one of the good ones. I guess I was mistaken."

After fumbling around near the bed to find his shorts, he finally managed to pull them on. "Casey, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not!" she snapped, furor racing in her dark eyes. "You tell me how you hate that people judge you because you're the bastard son of a noble and his maid! What makes you think it feels any different to have you decide that my family is a band of thieves or murderers?"

Stepping cautiously towards her, he brushed his hair out of his face. "No, I really am sorry. I only know what I've been told about the guilds. And maybe those things are wrong. But it's also wrong that you didn't tell me about any of this. I know why you couldn't tell anyone else but—"

"I knew you'd react like this," she answered, her face flushing with rage. "I think you've shown me that even the lowest ranking members of the empire still hold hatred for us."

He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away from him. "Come on."

Silence warily filled the room as they both stood perfectly still. A decade seemed to pass until she said, "You know, one of the laws of my father's guild is, 'If you lay hands on one of our own, be prepared to lay hands on us all.'"

He tilted his head, stepping closer, trying to catch her gaze as she kept her back to him. "All for one and one for all?"

"Yes," she answered, turning slightly. "So when you insult my father's guild, you also insult me."

"I'm sorry," he said, daring to put his arms around her waist and hold her gingerly from behind. "I really don't know what else to say. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She sighed as she folded into his embrace. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Will you tell me everything?" he asked gently.

She turned to face him and leaned against his chest. "Yes," she said, pulling him with her. "But let's get back in bed. I'm cold."

He wasn't going to complain. Grinning, he slipped under the sheet and blanket to lie on his back. With a quick kiss to his cheek, she made herself comfortable snuggling against his shoulder. "So the guilds aren't much different than the knights, I guess," he said. "With that pledge to stand beside each other."

She nodded, drawing her arm out from under the trappings. "Though, there is an exception. If two members of different guilds have a personal quarrel, they can engage each other. They must fight alone and their guilds must not interfere."

"Does that happen often?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, kissing his neck. "Mostly when men fight over women."

"Now that is no different than the empire."

"Women also fight over men."

"I'd pay to see one of those fights," he teased.

"Then you'd need to go to Nordopolica. The guild there, Palestralle, runs a coliseum where people fight monsters or each other." Flipping his hair from his face, she smirked. "The fights with women generally bring in bigger crowds."

"You've been?"

"No," she said, closing her eyes as she rested against him. "But I want to go."

"I would _definitely_ pay to see that."

She laughed. "Anyway, I guess I should tell you that all guilds have their own laws. Their members must swear to them before they receive their mark."

"You didn't have a choice, though."

"I was too young and born into Altosk. So, no, I didn't have a choice."

"What does your father's guild do?"

"Protect cities, defeat monsters, keep the other guilds in line," she sighed. "He spends an awful lot of time keeping the hot heads from fighting each other."

He tangled a hand in her hair, letting her tresses slip through his fingers. "Do guilds charge for their services?"

"Most do, but sometimes they work _gratis_. Altosk has done some good will jobs in the past."

"Protection at a cost. Sounds no different than the knights, except taxes pay us."

"Yeah," she smiled. "Or they will when we graduate next year." She paused, letting a long sigh escape her lips. "I kind of wish my dad could be here for that, but I know it's impossible."

"I'm sure he could sneak in," he kissed her forehead. I doubt anyone really pays attention anyway."

She frowned even more and took his hand. "Schwann, my father isn't just a member of Altosk. My father is Don Whitehorse, leader of the Union. And if anyone found that out—"

His eyes widened as he interrupted her. "It could mean big trouble for you or your father."

She nodded. "Just as you accused me of being a spy."

"I didn't mean that! I swear I didn't mean that," he said, drawing her closer and brushing his lips against her neck. "But there's something I don't get."

"What's that?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

"Why join the knights? Can't you join the guild?"

Her expression was one of intense resolve as she said, "I want to be a knight."

"And your father was completely in agreement with this decision?"

"The guilds believe in doing what _you_ think is right," she said, kissing him once on the cheek. "It would be hypocritical of him to say otherwise. I think being a knight is the right thing for _me_ to do. My father supported my decision and even had someone forge papers so it appeared that I was born into the empire. He figured it would cause less trouble for me in the long run if people just believed I was the daughter of a nobleman."

"And for him," he smiled at her. "I still can't believe this."

"Why not?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just can't imagine the leader of the guilds allowing his daughter to become one of those that normally causes problems for him."

"You'd understand if you met him," she said, flicking his nose playfully. "My father sent me here with his blessing. He even gave me Divine Cannon, the bow that is considered the family treasure."

"I remember you saying there was something special about it."

"That's not all," she whispered, right into his ear as if telling him a most delicate secret. "It will collapse and fold into a sword. I haven't shown anyone that trick because it would only raise suspicion."

"Probably," he whispered back before nipping at her shoulder. All of this talk was boring him. There were much more interesting things to do. "Guild weapons are unique."

"Yes," she answered to his words or his actions, he didn't know or really care. "Perhaps I could teach you to use it if you want, but only if you rid yourself of the idea that only cowards fight with bows."

"I…didn't mean that," he said, pulling back for a moment.

With his guard down, she rolled on top of him, her hands mischievously pinning his arms above his head. "You said it when we first met."

"I think I've grown up since then," he said, grinning up at her.

"I should hope so."


	4. Chapter 3

**Vindication**

Chapter Three  


* * *

_**Seven years ago…**_

It wasn't fair, damn it.

The railing of the balcony was frozen with snow and the stones rough, but that did not deter Schwann from leaning on it, no matter how much he despised being cold. He moved a bit to the right, such that he was out of view of the door and any that would disturb him. Reclaiming the rail, he displaced another bunch of snow into the courtyard below. The powder fell and splashed onto a small, dirty, drift dusting it back to white. He watched this with more interest that it deserved and knocked some more off the railing to add to it. Behind him, in the warmth of the castle's ballroom, his classmates reveled and danced. He wanted none of it, though.

Commencement. That's what the celebration going on behind him was; the beginning of their careers as military officers. There was so much more to come, so much more to do. But it all seemed pointless now.

Dusting off the sleeves of his uniform, he crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to warm up. It did not work. Steps approached him and from the sound of the stride he knew it to be Casey.

"Well, there you are," she said, moving to stand next to him. "I thought for a moment that you'd found a lovely maiden to take into one of the dark corners of the castle."

He didn't even glance at her. Normally her wit would at least produce a smirk or a retort. Not this time.

"You're going to catch your death of cold out here," she sighed, offering a heavy fur cloak she carried on her arm.

He shook his head at it. Damn her for having to come out. He just wanted to be left alone.

She placed the mantle over his shoulders. "Did you have too much wine?"

"No," he said, drawing the cloak around him. She knew how much he hated the cold. He was thankful for that, at least.

"Were the daughters of the ranking knights bothering you?" she asked, folding her arms into her own cape.

"No."

She tried the most direct approach, pulling on his arm and grinning at him. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"No," he said, tiredly rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Well, I honestly wasn't expecting that answer."

He said nothing.

She leaned her back against the balcony in an effort to force him to look at her. "You aren't drunk. You aren't tired of girls trying to whisk you off somewhere. You don't want me. So, then, why are you standing here, all alone, freezing your ass off?"

He waited a moment, considering the best way to say this. All he managed was, "It's not fair, Casey."

"What's not fair?" she asked.

His eyes trained off somewhere in the middle distance between her and the star sprinkled sky beyond. "Well, Captain Louis told me today that he thought I would make Lieutenant in a year."

"That's good news," she said, reaching up to pull out the series of plaits that held her long blonde hair in an intricate formation on her head. "Damn this thing. I am never doing this to my hair again."

He muttered, "Good. It looks awful."

"Well, at least I got a reaction out of you," she teased. "Anyway, isn't that what you wanted? You've been talking about how you want to advance, how you want to prove to those who said you were nothing but commoner trash—"

He turned to face her and assisted with the braids, removing the tiny hairpins and delicately freeing her hair from its temporary prison. "That's not it, Casey."

"Then, tell me," she touched a hand to his face. "I hate to see you so miserable on what should be a happy day for both of us."

Placing more pins into her hand, he said quietly, "Captain Louis had me reassigned to him. He's taken a liking to me, I guess. So, I won't be going with you and the Rosalind Brigade."

"Oh," she sighed, trying not to pull away as he tugged on a particularly obstinate part of her plaits. "Well, look on the bright side; at least you won't be with Cumore. I heard he made Lieutenant. I may have to take orders from that asshole."

"Probably bought the rank," Schwann said, taking a quick glance towards the door make sure no one had appeared while he was distracted.

She shook her hair out, letting it fall around her shoulders. "Definitely."

He just stood there, looking up at the barrier in the sky.

"Please say something?" she begged, slipping her hands around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "You scare me when you're like this. It's as if all emotion is drained out of you."

He drew back, ever so slightly. "Keep your hair down or in a ponytail. Stay away from those stupid things the noble women do. They don't suit you. At all."

She slid herself up to sit on the frozen rail, being careful to tuck her cloak underneath her bottom. "Thanks for that advice, but not really what I had in mind."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say what's bothering you. Aside from us being assigned different brigades. You knew this was a possibility. It shouldn't be too much of a surprise."

He turned around, took a long breath and then admitted, "I don't think I can survive if I'm away from you."

"Oh, please, Schwann. You'll survive," she said and he could _hear_ her rolling her eyes at him. "True, you'll need someone to tell you if your socks match since you seem to be colorblind in that department, but I'm sure someone will step up the cause."

"I'm not kidding," he spun around. Lines of serious tension pulled on his face. "No, I don't mean like that. I love you and I like who I am when we're together." He paused, then added, "And, I'm afraid of who I'll become when we're apart."

"You think you'll change just because I'm not around? That's ridiculous." She shook her head.

"No, it's not," he said, stepping closer to her until he was standing just in front of where she was sitting. He rested his hands on the rail near her thighs and spoke with complete, devoted sincerity. "You keep me honest, Casey. That month you left for your mother's funeral, I felt lost. I didn't like who I was those four weeks. I wanted to be there with you."

"You know that was impossible," she sighed, her warm breath forming a puff of vapor in the freezing air. "Schwann, no matter where I am, you'll still be you and I'll still be me. You'll always be the guy who can go from serious to playful in the space of a sentence. You'll still be the same self-absorbed jackass that I love. The same guy who looks down the dresses of the barmaids and pretends I don't notice. The guy whose voice jumps two octaves when he gets nervous."

He frowned at her assessment of him. It wasn't quite the romantic answer he was hoping for, but it was honest, raw and sincere—and that's what he loved about her the most.

Brushing his long, dark bangs out of his face, she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. "You'll always be the very same man who can make me feel better even when it seems like the end of the world has hit me. You'll always be someone who cares enough about other people to do what's right even if it's not popular. You'll always be my best friend, my closest confidant and the person I want to see when I wake up in the mornings. No one can change that about you."

He smiled at her, watching her brown eyes dart over his face as if trying to read his mind.

Casey slid off the balcony and wrapped her arms around him. "I've seen you grow up. I've seen you do all these things—become all these things. You won't lose that just because I'm not there. You can't."

"And what about you?" he asked, resting his chin atop her head. "What if I lose you?"

"You won't," she answered, leaning her cheek on his chest. "I swear that on the honor of my family and Altosk."

He held her like that for a long moment, their cloaks keeping the wind at bay just enough. Cheeks red with cold and emotion, he smiled down at her. She was right, even if it wasn't fair.

She murmured into his chest, "Besides, what woman would have you? You're skinny, you haven't grown into your shoulders, your eyes are a funny shade of green and you let your straggly hair hang in your face."

"Well…when you put it like that…" he laughed.

Kissing his flushed cheek, she said into his ear, "We have four weeks before we're shipped out. We should make them count. Anything in particular you want to do?"

He lifted her chin tenderly. "I want to go to Dahngrest with you."

"No. You can't," she drew back, slightly but still remained in his arms.

"Why not?"

"It's not a good idea, okay?" she said, glancing down as if studying the tracks their shoes had made in the snow. "Things aren't good between the guilds and the empire right now. I don't want to go back now. Let's just leave it at that."

"You don't want to go back?"

"No," she said, burying her face into his chest. "I don't want to cause any more trouble for my father. Not right now."

"Trouble?"

"Let's not talk about it, not tonight." She looked up at him with a raised brow. "Besides, I think you owe me a glass of wine or two. It will get the cold out of my bones since you insisted on having this little chat in the snow."

He offered her his arm. "Fair enough. And then I'll take you up on bed."

"Figured you would," she said, giving him a wink and taking his arm. "Daddy told me once that women want everything from one man and men want one thing from every woman."

"Can't say that's false."

"Neither can I, actually."


	5. Chapter 4

**Vindication**

Chapter Four

* * *

**_Six years ago…_**

It should have been perfect, damn it.

He'd been planning this for weeks—months even. Three whole months they'd gone without seeing each other. It had been this way since they had been deployed, three months apart and then barely a week together before returning to duty. Stationed at Deidon Hold, he often found himself standing on top of the fortress in the evenings and looking towards Capua Nor. Not that he could see her, of course, but it brought a bit of comfort to know that she was in that direction.

Every day was the same for him and even that didn't change a month ago when he earned his promotion. Awake at dawn, patrol the plains, kill the monsters, protect the capital and travelers headed in that direction. It was dull, boring work but he never complained. He just looked forward to the end of each day. Every evening he would eat supper, climb to the top of the fortress, write her a letter and then, in the privacy of the pathways atop the massive structure, practice with the guild weapon—a folding bow—she had given him.

It was a routine and though writing each day might have been considered obsessive, he knew how terrible army mail was and thus, of each ten, he could count on her to get one. She'd write back, telling him of her days in Capua Nor and how she was often selected to sail on the ferry to Capua Torim. She liked these assignments. Travelling on the sea, no matter how short the voyage, was something she enjoyed. Her letters never came often enough, though. After reading each one, he'd long for the next, praying it would arrive before his next leave.

Leave was a precious commodity. He would travel to her since it was easier that way and there were certainly more things to do in Capua Nor than in the fortress. This time, he had something special planned. This time, in the late spring, when the nights were warm, he took her to the bridge in the town. They'd stood there countless times before, watching the boats come and go and chat as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It was _their_ place.

His hands were nervous with sweat and he kept wiping them on the pants of his uniform. His stomach was twitching with anxiety but he decided it was time to do this. He'd saved as much as he could over the past four months. His salary wasn't anything particularly spectacular, but the promotion had given him a bit more to enjoy. And thus, when he saw the perfect ring being peddled by a traveling merchant, he bought it without a second thought.

As twilight fell, she stood next to him, holding his hand and asking a question he didn't hear. She pressed the tip of his nose with a finger. "Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?"

He grinned at her, but it felt sloppy for some reason. "Oh, of course," he stammered. It was a blatant lie.

"Right," she snorted playfully. "Anyway, want to get a drink? The tavern is usually pretty tame this time of evening."

"In a bit," he replied, putting his hands under her arms and lifting her up. Either she was getting lighter or he was getting stronger. He hoped it to be the latter as he set her down to sit on the edge of the bridge.

"You're not going to throw me off?" she teased, kicking her legs as she perched there in the position he placed her. "That's refreshing."

He tried to laugh but his breath caught in his throat. His mouth was running dry and he swore his legs were shaking underneath him. A few passersby had stopped. Apparently they knew what was going on, even if he wasn't sure that he was doing this right. Palms still sweating, he took a small box out of his coat pocket and placed it in her hand.

She raised a brow at him. "What's this?"

With his heart racing, he kneeled in front of her. "Open it. I'm not too good with coming up with things to say at times like this, so…well, you'll get the idea."

As she opened the box, her expression wasn't one that he had expected. Though nothing about her was predictable, he did imagine her to have a bit of enthusiasm or excitement or affection for him. But there was nothing but silence on the bridge and terror in her eyes.

He found his voice somewhere between his dry throat and his heart grating against his ribs. "Well?"

Tears welled in Casey's eyes as she confirmed his fear. "Schwann, I can't."

Three words. Three words he didn't expect to hear. Three words and it was all over. Just like that. Mortified, he stood up, noticing the people behind him who thought they were about to witness something romantic still hadn't dispersed despite her refusal. He glared over his shoulder at them but they remained.

Tears slipped down her face as she clutched the small box and slid off the wall. "I can't. I love you, and I will swear my life to yours, but I can't marry you."

"That makes no sense," he said, looking away from her. He wanted to jump off the bridge. There was no point to any of this now.

He felt her take his hand as she looked over his shoulder. "We're being watched."

Jerking away from her, he said nothing.

"We're too young, Schwann," she said, her voice trembling on the weakest of excuses.

He turned away. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want her to see what she was doing to him. "We're nineteen. I'll be twenty in six weeks."

"Still too young," she said, stepping closer.

His reply was a mutter that sounded like it had been drenched in vinegar. "My mother had me when she was sixteen."

"That was a mistake," she said, before realizing the implications her words would have. Reaching for him, she stammered, "I…didn't mean it like that. I just meant…well, Captain Rosalind told me that her second cousin—your father—he wasn't a very nice man and that he likely—"

He shoved her back. Right now, he cared not to hear her voice much less what she was saying, even though he knew it to be the truth. "Just go away."

She was begging now, her hands folded in front of her as she tried to chase the last of the onlookers away with a scowl. "Schwann…there's more. Let's go back to the inn. I'll explain it there."

Spinning around to place his hands on top of the bridge's wall, he kept his back to her. "I don't want to hear any more about the 'mistake' that I am."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Go back to the inn yourself. I want to be alone right now."

"Schwann…" she said, her voice trembling against tears as she set the box next to him.

"Go," was the barely discernable grunt. "Go away, Casey."

When he was certain she was gone, he threw the box over the side of the bridge.

***

Hours passed. Night fell. Children were called indoors. Merchants packed up their shops and carts. The tavern had long since closed. The last of the drunks had made their way to wherever they intended to sleep. Capua Nor was dead. Life may have stopped for the time being, but he failed to notice.

In those hours of stillness, a bitter, pelting rain began. It was too fast to be romantic and too cold to be comforting, though he wanted neither of those things. On and on for hours it went, not once letting up for even a moment. Even as the moon rose to its highest point in the sky, the tiny sliver looking like a thumbnail peeking out from the clouds and darkness beyond, the rain had still yet to relent.

Despite the weather, Schwann still stood on the bridge. His hands gripped the rough concrete that made up the wall. Even slicked with rain and tears, the small bumps dug into his skin with each moment and each tightening of his grip. He was going to strangle that bridge. It was the only thing left to do since nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.

Footfalls behind him approached, cautiously, delicately. He didn't even have to lift his head; it was her. Perhaps she had come back to kill him. He decided that would be the most merciful thing for her to do at this point.

Casey called his name, but he didn't look at her. He _couldn't_ look at her.

He couldn't feel the cold or the rain anymore. He couldn't feel anything. "What do you want? The room is paid for. Go back. Go to sleep. I'll come get my things in the morning and you won't have to see me ever again."

"Schwann, I don't want that," she said, her steps sloshing through the puddles between them.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you," she said simply and with finality as she tried to put a hand on his back. "I just want you."

He shrugged her off of him. "I don't want you since I'm only good enough to fuck and not good enough to marry."

"You don't get it," she sighed, moving around to lean against the wall, forcing him to see her face.

Pushing himself up, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She was soaked through her clothes and her matted blonde hair snaked on her cheeks. "I think I damn well do. Just go find another guy to sleep with. That seems to be all you care about anyway. I bet you could find one in that tavern that would be all to happy to—"

Before he could finish the thought, his face stung as her hand made fast, brutal contact with his cheek. "Shut up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just listen for a moment! This isn't _just_ about you, Schwann!"

He drew himself to his full height of nearly six feet, standing at perfect attention just as he'd been taught and glowering down at her. "It's fine. I'm done with you and this ridiculous excuse for a relationship anyway. Just go away, Casey."

She stood in front of him, her lips pouted as her eyes closed. The rain kept slapping both of them as she whispered, "You don't believe that. You don't believe this was a sorry excuse. You can't believe that. Not after all these years."

He shook his head, his drenched dark hair spraying drops all around. "Just go."

She held her ground. "Schwann, I don't want to go. As much as you scare me when you're like this, I want you to understand why I can't accept."

"You already said it. We're too young."

"That's not all."

"Well, I know the other part," his voice was soft but the words were pointed. "The Union boss's daughter isn't good enough for Imperial trash. Don't rub it in."

"No, listen," she sighed, pulling her sopping hair behind her head and futility trying to wring it out. "The guilds don't believe in marriage."

"That's stupid. Why not? Easier on the conscious when you wake up next to some strange man?"

"No," she said, clasping his right hand in both of hers. "Marriage is an institution of the empire. We don't practice their laws. We don't want to do anything their way. We have our own ways and our own traditions."

"Of course you do," he said, pulling his hand from her grasp. "So, let me guess. You don't marry people. You just fuck whoever you want. Great. Have fun with that." He took a few steps back. He _had_ to get away from her.

Casey was still not ready to surrender. Grabbing onto his sodden shirt, she pulled him with such force he nearly lost his balance. "You can hate me all you want but I at least deserve to explain myself."

"Hurry up," he answered, glancing away. "Looking at you just makes me want to jump off this bridge."

"Schwann," she sighed. "The guilds practice a different sort of ritual for commitment than marriage."

"Let me guess, multiple wives? Multiple husbands? How barbaric. Go back to your fucked up traditions since you love them so much and leave me alone!"

She raised her hand to slap him again but he caught her arm and forced it back down to her side. "Shut up and let me finish! We swear our lives to our life mates but we don't require an official document of a ridiculous, overbearing government to approve."

"That's just an excuse. You're not in a guild. You're a knight."

"I'm still a member of the guilds," she whispered as she reached to touch his face and brush the pathetic, limp twists of hair out of his eyes. "Besides, the Union boss' daughter married to a knight? Think of the implications that'll have on your career, _Lieutenant_ Schwann."

He didn't push her away. As angry as he was with her right now, he couldn't hate her. He tried hating her in those hours he was alone and he couldn't do it then and he certainly couldn't do it now. "You're a knight." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"But I'm also the daughter of the enemy of the empire."

"No one knows that," he said, absently drawing her into his arms.

She pressed her cheek into his chest. "I'm sure someone does. And if not, they'll find out. When they do, it would be the end of you and your goals to stop the corruption and bring equality to the people from inside the knights. You know this, Schwann."

"You're either a knight or a guildsman. You can't have it both ways."

"I _have_ to have it both ways," her voice muffled by the soaked fabric of his shirt. "I need both you and my father. You're my best friend and the one person in this world—besides my father—that I trust my life to."

He didn't release her and the words were tender despite their painful message. "You don't need me. You just proved that to me."

She sobbed into his chest as her hands wrung the water out of his shirt. "Damn it, Schwann! Are you that dense? Can't you see?"

"See what?"

She lifted her head to meet his eyes and her tenor carried the truth in her heart as she spoke. "I love you. I would gladly become your life mate by my own traditions, but I cannot marry you by yours. Doing that would be a slap in the face to my family. I love my father and as someone who was born into the guilds I must adhere to our beliefs, even if I have chosen to live among the knights and the empire."

He didn't look away. He followed her glances, as if their eyes were playing a game of chase. Long moments passed as they just looked at each other, the rain still caroming mercilessly on their skin. The water below crashed against the pillars of the bridge as if keeping time as they stood in silence. He rested his cheek on her head, the scent of the flowers she'd rubbed into her hair bringing back memories of happier times. He let her stay there, curled against him. It felt right. It would _always_ feel right.

He knew she was waiting for him to say something. So, he whispered, "What does this guild ritual entail?"

"Two knives, our words and each other. That's it."

"Knives?" he asked, kissing her forehead.

"They're more useful than rings, wouldn't you say?"

"I…guess."

She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his before kissing it. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you do this with me?"

"Would you have asked me had I not asked you to marry me?" he asked, glancing down at a huge puddle and noticing just how much of a mess he looked.

"Yes," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Her breath was a welcome touch of warmth in the shivering rain. "When?"

"I was going to wait until the winter, when we'd have a longer leave."

He sighed, deep and long before looking into her dark eyes. "I love you, Casey. I'm sorry for the things I said. You know that I believe that love allows for all our failings, but I don't know if you're willing to forgive me or if I even deserve to ask for your forgiveness."

She brushed his hair from his eyes and then traced her fingers down his dripping cheek. "I am, and you do."

"So, do I need to be in a guild to do whatever it is that you do in lieu of marriage?" The question sounded harsher than he had intended, but she didn't seem to mind.

"No. It has nothing to do with anyone but us."

He squeezed her tight against him and whispered into her ear. "Let's do it, then. If you'll have me, I mean."

"Of course," she said, slipping her hands around his waist and returning the tight embrace. "Right now?"

"We can do that?"

"It's just between us. We can do it whenever or wherever we want." She smiled at him. "Now is perfect."

He placed a chaste, tender kiss on her lips. "All right. Now, then."

She stepped back from him, passion and warmth filling her eyes. She pulled the slender, short blade she wore on her belt from its sheath and smiled at him. It was an exquisite piece of weaponry—one she had always carried. While the blade itself was impressive, the hilt was downright beautiful. Wrapped in brown leather, it was adorned with red designs and long, ornate gold tassles. Holding it between her teeth, she rolled her left sleeve up to her shoulder, fighting the wet fabric the entire way.

Taking the blade back into her hand, she moved it in two quick, elegant motions, leaving a simple, bleeding "x" etched into her arm. Her words came with an intensity that showed she had practiced this numerous times, looking for just the right way to say it. "I, Casey Whitehorse, full member of Altosk, dedicated member of the Union and sergeant of the Imperial Knights pledge my life and my soul to you, Schwann Oltorain. I swear this on the blood I draw and the knife I present to you in honor of this moment."

With that, she placed the stained blade into its sheath and gave it to him. Licking a finger, she helped the rain wipe the blood from her arm. "Now it's your turn."

It was so different and yet simple, so flawlessly simple. He was back to being nervous and excited at the same time, just as he was hours ago. At least the rain would mask the sweat on his palms this time around. "What do I say?"

"Whatever you'd like. What I used is considered traditional—in Altosk, at least."

"All right," he said, pulling his knife. It was a plain, ordinary one. Standard issue to the knights and not nearly as impressive as hers. Rolling up his right sleeve, he could feel his hands shaking. It wasn't the wound he was worried about. No, a little pain was nothing to him. It was the words. Damn the words.

She was smiling at him, waiting for him. Holding his breath, he cut into his arm just as she had. Then, he bit his lip and hoped the words would come. Miraculously, they did. He felt strong saying them, proud even. "I, Schwann Oltorain, lieutenant of the imperial knights, pledge my life and soul to you, Casey Whitehorse. I will always protect you. I will always love you. My life is yours from this point forward. I swear this on the blood I draw and I knife I give to you."

Her eyes were glassy as she took the knife and sheath from him. Covering the wound he had inflicted with her hand, she attempted to shield it from the rain. "That was perfect. Just as I always imagined it would be from the time I was a little girl." She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Perfect, Schwann. Perfect."

"Really?" he asked, still amazed at the simplicity of the ritual. It was better than a formal, imperial marriage. It was, as she said, just _perfect_.

"Well, maybe I didn't imagine it with the rain," she teased, kissing his cheek again.

He grinned and wanted more, so he took it. Gently cupping her chin, he gave her a full, deep, passionate kiss that sealed their words to each other. When it finally broke, he asked, "Now what?"

Twirling his bangs deftly around her finger, she replied, "Now, we go to the inn and dry off."


	6. Chapter 5

**Vindication**

Chapter Five

* * *

_**Five years ago…**_

It couldn't be happening, damn it.

Schwann wanted to believe this was just one long nightmare that had yet to end, but he wasn't that naïve. It started the moment a soldier had been sent to relieve him of his evening duty. The nervous guard told him to report immediately to Captain Louis and wouldn't answer any questions for the sudden change of plans.

It wasn't surprising for him to be summoned by the captain. No, Louis had been invariably kind to him over the years, and they'd spent a good deal of time together. Whether it was a drink, a meal together, or just a good talk, the captain was not just a superior, but a good friend. On top of that, he often told Schwann that he considered him to be his protégé and expended much effort to teach him lessons of leadership.

Still, the strange dread he felt kept him silent as he made his way back into the fortress and towards the captain's office. What could be so pressing? Was he losing his leave? He prayed it wasn't that; it had been three months since the last one and Casey's letters only made him miss her more. Was he being sent somewhere else? He had asked for a transfer, but doubted information on that would be so urgent. Had he done something wrong? Nothing came to mind. Still, whatever it was, his instincts told him it wasn't good news.

He stepped into the captain's office and went to give a salute, but noticed the man was facing away, his gaze trained out the window. The departing sun bathed the room in an ominous, muted yellow light, and despite the noise he made as he entered, the captain did not turn around. A bit nervous to disturb his superior's thoughts, Schwann said quietly, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Close the door," the captain said, still keeping his eyes focused on something in the distance.

Schwann did as he asked, noticing how cool the room actually was and gave a slight shiver. "Sir?"

"Have a seat."

"Is something wrong, sir?" he asked as he gingerly sat himself down in the chair opposite the captain's desk.

Captain Louis finally turned around, nervously running a hand through his red hair. His brow furrowed darkly as he finally said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"Bad news?" he asked, nearly holding his breath. The captain was never one to show anxiety, at least not to him. It made the trepidation he felt even worse, and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

"I'm afraid that Casey Dalvist was listed as missing on the last report." The words came quickly, but gently. Captain Louis heaved a harsh sigh as he seemed to drop the weight of the news from his shoulders. "I'm sorry, son."

Schwann was numb. So that was it. Missing. But missing wasn't dead, he tried to tell himself. The captain seemed to be waiting for a response so he gave one, but held a firm glower. "A tragic occurrence, sir."

"You don't need to put up a front for me, Schwann," Louis said, shaking his head. "I know the two of you have been more than friends for quite some time. Since your time at the academy, I believe."

Schwann said nothing. He _couldn't_ say anything. The rock he felt in his throat prevented that. A long pause pulled through the room until he finally managed to speak a single word through the air that was beginning to strangle him. "How?"

"She was leading a group from Capua Torim towards the new city they're building out there and her company was attacked by bandits. Many were killed and she is missing."

His eyes narrowed in rage as the tightness in his throat worsened. Whoever did this would suffer for it. He'd see to that. "Do you know which bandits? The Dark Wings?"

"No," Captain Louis said, dragging a chair to sit next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing in the report regarding who was responsible, or if any organized group was behind it."

Schwann gave a tight slight nod but did not look at his superior. The pattern on the rug held his attention as he forced his eyes to trace its intricate patterns in an effort to curb the burning he felt within them. Right then, he wanted nothing but to go his room and be alone, but he couldn't just walk out without be dismissed.

"It's all right to show your grief to me, son," he said as he gave the young man a sympathetic pat on the back. "I will think nothing less of you for doing so. I've told you before that I consider you my protégé. When I retire, I hope you will lead this brigade, and learning to handle loss is something you must become familiar with. It doesn't get any easier, but finding a way to make peace with it will help you deal with it." He paused, adding gently, "Fighting it alone only makes it worse."

Schwann barely gave a nod in acknowledgement, gritting his teeth in an effort to fight the tears that wanted to fall. Louis may have meant well, but he wasn't helping. And yet, he knew the captain was right. No knight captain worth his salt would be emotionless at losing his men in battle. But this wasn't about men lost on a battlefield. This was about _Casey_.

Forcing tears back, he bit his lip and focused his eyes on a book in the case against the wall.

The captain lowered his voice. "My mother was a child of the guilds, you know. So, I know what that mark on your arm means, son."

Schwann just closed his eyes. Mention of _that_ was not helping. Not at all.

Louis shook his head. "I also know who her father is—I helped him forge the papers to get her into the knights."

He curled his toes in his boots in an effort to distract himself from all the stinging in his eyes and the Captain's words. Casey couldn't be gone. It _couldn't_ be true.

Louis rubbed his forehead, forcing the wrinkles there into a morose dance. "I hate to mention this, Schwann, but it is for the best that you know." He drew a long breath. "The empire will send word to the family I created on paper and they will discover that she was a fraud. It's unlikely they'll realize that she is Whitehorse's child, but it's always a possibility." He paused and another sigh fell from his lips. "You should be prepared to deny knowing anything about her heritage."

Schwann didn't even shrug. He could care less about such things. All that mattered right now was Casey. Not forged papers. Not her heritage. Just Casey. Finally, the tears won the battle. He covered his face with a numb, trembling hand that was drenched in a cold sweat.

"Son," the captain said, his hand firmly on the knight's shoulder, in an effort to offer some kind of comfort. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I wish there was more I could say to you, but you must find strength in this because there's something you must do for her sake."

Whatever embarrassment Schwann thought he would have had for such a display in front of his commanding officer melted away for the moment. Finally able to hold the tears back, he glanced up at the man and managed a word. "What?"

Captain Louis met his sorrow-filled eyes with a kind, paternal gaze. "It wouldn't be right for her father not to know what happened. And, since by rights you are her husband, you must be the one to go tell him."

* * *

As many times as Schwann had wanted to go to Dahngrest, he wished to be anywhere but there at the moment. The air smelled of thick humidity and the red haze that cloaked the city felt like a bad omen. Despite the noonday sun, the sky was dark, a perfect way to blur the unscrupulous dealings that likely happened within the city amongst members of the guilds. Even the barrier was crooked and dull; it hung at an impossible angle over the buildings and shone with barely any amount of light. Its shadow obscured his path as he walked underneath it and into the main street. He drew a long breath, hoping to get this over with quickly and get out of this place. It gave him the creeps.

He had dressed casually as to not to draw attention to himself. He didn't think the guildsmen would take kindly to an Imperial knight just wandering their streets. But even in civilian clothes, he noticed that all eyes were on him. He stopped at one vendor's stall and asked where he could find the infamous Don Whitehouse. The shopkeeper just laughed in his face. He tried another and got the same reaction. And another. He spent all day asking where to find the Don, and by the time night had fallen, he was no closer than when he started.

He took a room at the inn for the night, and though the innkeeper was friendly, he also refused any information on the Union's leader. As he lay on the bed, he knew there was a way to get the Don's attention, but he was hesitant. If he was killed before he delivered the news, he'd be a failure. Although, it was looking like he had no other choice.

The next morning, he dressed in his uniform. As he stepped out of the inn, he heard people audibly gasp as they looked at him. The next thing he knew, a piece of smelly, spoiled fruit struck him in the back of the head. Turning to see who'd thrown it brought him face-to-face with four huge guildsmen who didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation.

One struck him in the back of the head while the others grabbed his limbs and restrained him. A burlap sack was thrown over his head and the men dragged him off, the crowd still hurling insults and rotten fruit at him.

* * *

When his sight was finally returned to him, he found himself in a dungeon that would make the ones in Zaphias look hospitable. The floors were covered in filth and the stench caused him to gag. He realized that his sword had been taken from him, but oddly the knife Casey had given him remained on his belt.

Grabbing onto the bars, he tried to look out and get a better grasp of his surroundings. He could see nothing to the left because of a large pillar blocking his view, and to the right, there were only empty cells. Resigned to do nothing but wait and see what fate would bring him, he sat on the ground and hoped they wouldn't forget him down here.

A good while passed and his stomach growled. He wanted to believe the guilds were as honorable as Casey had told time and time again, but right now, they weren't really impressing him. Casey. He didn't want to dwell too much on her; it would only bring more grief, and emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment.

A deep voice, rough with a guild accent, broke into his thoughts as a group of guildsmen approached the cell. "You're either an idiot or incredibly brave to wear that outfit in this city. I'm leaning towards idiot."

"You must be Don Whitehorse," Schwann said, standing up and dusting off his pants as he took a good look at who was speaking to him. He was a bear of a man: stocky, with a strong frame and a stern face. Dressed in heavy leathers and a long coat, he smelled of battle—sweat, blood and metal. His blonde hair matched Casey's in color and he wore it long down his back. Schwann noted the resemblance stopped with their hair. She must have taken after her mother. He was thankful for that.

"And if I am?" the man answered, the men behind him snickering as he opened the cell and stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

He looked up at the huge man, doing his best to hide his fear. "Then I need to talk to you."

"Imperial trash! I don't waste time with the likes of you!" The man shouted, as he landed a surprisingly soft punch in the knight's stomach. Despite not consuming all of his strength, it still knocked the wind out of Schwann. Fighting to catch his breath, he heard the man give an order. "Get out of here! Leave this piece of crap to me. It's been a while since I had some fun."

Don Whitehorse waited while his men left and then raised a brow at him. "So whaddya want with me?"

It was time, Schwann told himself. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. "Sir, my name is—"

"Schwann Oltorain," the Don interrupted. "I know."

"How--?" he began to ask.

"Casey told me she marked herself for a knight with that name. Figure it's you since that knife on yer belt's the same one I gave her mother." He gave a smirk as he circled around Schwann. "Never expected ya to be such a scrawny sack of shit, though."

His fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of the weapon. "I'm surprised you didn't take it from me. The empire would never leave a prisoner with a weapon."

The huge man leaned on the wall of the cell and looked at him with an intensely serious gaze. "No guildsman who wants to keep his life takes another's knife. The only one who can do that is the one who gave it to ya. It's the worst kind of disrespect 'round here."

"I see," Schwann answered, meeting the man's eyes. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sir."

"No 'sir'ing 'round here, kid."

"Forgive me," he sighed and then bowed his head in respect. The words came out in a jumble of a mess. "Captain Louis, well, he knows you and Casey, and he told me to come and…"

"Don't they teach you idiots concise reporting?" the Don said with an annoyed shake of his head.

Schwann glared darkly at him and delivered the news in a snipped, even tone. "I'm here to tell you that Casey's dead."

The huge man laughed. "No, she ain't. She just needed to get out of that damn army and back here where she belongs."

Schwann's eyes widened. It was impossible. Well, not impossible, but certainly not what he expected to hear. "What?" he asked desperately, his heart filling with blind hope. "She's alive?"

"You heard me, boy. She's alive. She's back here, with us."

"I have to see her!" he said, clenching his fists in excitement. "I have to! For two weeks I've thought her to be dead! You've got to bring her here!"

"I ain't gotta do anything for you. I'd think the man who swore his life to my daughter would have more sense than to walk into town wearing the uniform of my enemy. Unless he doesn't value his life or his promise that much." The words were harsh, even though the Don's eyes shone with good-natured contempt.

"I wanted to get your attention," Schwann answered.

"Well, ya got it, all right. Mine and the whole city's." Whitehorse gave a dark laugh. "Clever, I'll give ya that. Though, I'll tell ya, the only reason yer still alive is that my men recognized that knife. Otherwise, I don't know that this woulda ended so well for ya."

"But Casey," the knight entreated frantically. She was so much more important that this nonsense. She was alive. "I must see her."

"She ain't here at the moment, but when she gets back I'll tell her I gotcha down here. More for your own safety at this point." He gave a sideways grin and grasped Schwann's shoulder. "I think everyone in town is linin' up fer a chance to tear an Imperial knight limb from limb."

Schwann gave a nod. The man was right about that, at least. "But what about the attack on her company?"

"Only way to get her out was to take her back," the Don raised a brow at him. "What does yer country do to those who leave the army without permission?"

Schwann frowned. The empire had no sympathy for deserters. "Hang them."

"Couldn't let them do that to my girl," he answered, glancing away from Schwann for a moment. "I ain't got much left in this world, and Casey means more to me than you'll ever know." Then after a pause, he grinned, "Well, maybe ya do know about that, boy."

He gave a nod and said with as much courage as he could muster in the face of this man. "I love her, sir."

"What did I tell ya about that 'sir' business?" the Don laughed. "Anyway, if she left and they discovered who she is, might mean a full out war on both our sides. Best that it just look like a battle gone wrong."

"So you killed her company," Schwann sighed. While he understood the reasoning, he couldn't really agree with the method.

"Fought with her company," Whitehorse corrected firmly. "Some were killed. Some on our side, too. But I got her back here and she's fine."

"I can't believe you'd kidnap your own daughter just to bring her back to you and your guild," the words were sour but he spoke them anyway. "I thought she had your blessing to be in the knights."

Backing out of the cell and locking it behind him, the Don said cryptically, "Only did what she asked of me."

"Huh?"

"Never ya mind," Whitehorse answered, his arms crossed across his chest. "Cool yer heels down here for awhile, boy. I'll make sure they feed ya and when Casey comes back, I'll tell her yer here. If she wants to see ya, she'll come down."

"Why wouldn't she?" Schwann asked. The mere thought of Casey not wanting to see him was incredulous.

The Don shrugged as he walked away. "Who knows? Women can be like that."

* * *

Schwann was certain it was night, even though he couldn't see the sky. The guard had changed, food had been brought and the air was noticeably colder. The meal he'd been given wasn't half bad, but the temperament of the guards left much to be desired. They'd spent most of the afternoon heckling him from outside the bars, tossing ugly words along with apple cores at him. When he asked for a blanket or even some straw to sleep on, the answer was only a harsh laugh. Resigned to sleep on the stone floor, he lay down in the hopes of finding a bit of rest in the uncomfortable surroundings.

Suddenly, a clamor of approaching boots brought him to his feet. Before he had a chance to object, the cell door was flung open and two huge swordsmen entered. Blades drawn, they forced him up against the wall and tied his hands behind his back. His attempts of protest were met with a swift kick to the back of the legs, forcing him down to his knees. One held his sword to Schwann's neck, the tip drawing a line of blood as the man sneered at him.

"Yer lucky," the taller of the two said. "The Don likes ya. So we ain't gonna do anything too bad."

He didn't answer. He had nothing to say to these men. If they were going to kill him, they needed to just get on with it.

"He ain't very talkative is he, Marco?" the other asked. "Figured Imperial trash would squeal like a pig when faced with my blade!"

"Ya think too much of that blade of yours, Rozzi," Marco answered.

In response, Rozzi knocked Schwann on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. "Yer afraid of me, aren't ya, boy?"

Schwann remained silent. They were intimidating, but he refused to let them have the pleasure of seeing his reaction.

"I think he's mute," Marco said. "We best just get on with this."

Rozzi stood behind him and Schwann steeled himself. They were indeed going to kill him. So much for all that honor of the guilds that Casey had told him about. Murdering an unarmed man who had committed no crime was nothing less of barbaric. Maybe all those things he'd been taught about the guilds before he'd met Casey _were_ true. Maybe she was living in denial about what her father and his ilk were really like.

He heard Rozzi tap his sword impatiently on the ground as if waiting for him to say something, to protest or perhaps beg for his life. He did none of these things. Then, without warning or choice, he was blindfolded. The strip of black cloth stunk of stale sweat, but he still did not close his eyes. In that moment, waiting for his short life of twenty years to end, he chose to regret nothing.

"Enough," he heard Casey say, but the sound told him that she was distant—perhaps in the long hallway in front of the cells. He gasped a sigh of relief. She was alive! She had come to him! Her footsteps echoed on the stones and then he knew she was near him now. Finally! He could get some answers. This whole nightmare could be put behind them and they could move on! Her tone was angry as she addressed the two men. "You exceeded your orders. I'll deal with you later."

"But Guildmistress--" Rozzi started.

"Get out of here," Casey commanded. "_Now_."

Schwann heard the two men run off and breathed a sigh of relief. With a laugh, he said, "Well, yes, thank you, _Guildmistress_. That could have ended badly."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he heard her sit down in front of him.

"Don't be sorry. Just untie me, already."

"Schwann, I can't."

Those three words _again_. He shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about? I know you told me to never come but I thought you were dead! I thought your father should know! And then, he said you were alive!"

She touched his face with just her fingertips, as if brushing away tears that had yet to fall. "I am," she replied tiredly, to which statement he wasn't entirely sure.

"Why must I be bound and blindfolded?" he asked, dreading the answer. Was she here to say one last goodbye before the Don had him decapitated? Was she afraid he might see something in Dahngrest that would be considered a guild secret?

There was a long pause as her fingers gently tugged his long bangs out from under the blindfold. "Because if I were to look in your eyes again, I might not be able to do what I have to do."

He tried to choke his words back, but failed. "Are you here to kill me?"

"No."

"Then what? What can't you do?"

"Send you away," she said, her words sliding in between tears.

His hands felt numb under the ropes that held them behind his back but they still managed to shake. "Send me away? Why? Why can't—"

She put a finger over his lips and he swore he could taste her agony on her skin. "Things are different. I have problems and responsibilities I must face here."

"Did your father—"

"It has nothing to do with my father."

"Then, what? What can't you tell me?" he pleaded, attempting to scoot himself closer to her. "You always preached how the guilds believed in doing what's right. How is disappearing from the army right?"

"It is the right thing for me to do right now."

"I don't believe that," he said, shaking his head as his throat tightened in anguish. "I don't believe _you_ believe that either. You told me once you were both a knight _and_ guildsman. You said you _had_ to have it both ways. What suddenly made you change your mind?"

"Schwann, please," she begged, touching his shoulders. "Please don't make this any more difficult for me."

"No! Damn it, Casey!" he felt his lips quivering. She may have well just killed him.

She grabbed his arm, still sobbing. "C'mon, get up."

With her assistance, he stood. What he wouldn't give to see her, to put his arms around her, hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. No matter what the problem was, they could work it out. "Something isn't right. Please, let me look at you. Please, tell me what is going on. Please, Casey."

She didn't answer. Instead, she leaned against him, as she always had, tucking her cheek against his chest. She remained there a good long while, crying on him, her hair smelling of fresh tanned leather and her beloved fire lilies.

He'd never felt so useless in his entire life. There was nothing he could do to console her. And, though she was killing him with this idea of sending him away, he couldn't stand to see her so distraught.

Finally, she raised her head. "You must leave. Don't look back."

He just wanted to see her face. He _had_ to see her face. "Why can't I help you?" he asked. "Why can't I help you with whatever you have to do here?"

She slipped her hands around his waist and pressed her forehead into his chest. "These are my responsibilities, not yours. You have always had your own dreams and I cannot ask you to give them up. You must return to the knights and work to fix all the problems of the empire." She sighed, repeating words that he had said to her numerous times. "Expose those who are corrupt. Find those who have done unjust deeds and see that they are punished for their crimes. Work to bring peace to this world. Help create an empire that judges people on their values, not their social standing."

Hearing his own words being repeated just made the sense of finality even worse. "I'd give it up for you," he said firmly. "I'd give it all up right now."

"Don't say stupid things like that!" she whispered as she pounded a weak, miserable fist on his chest.

"I'm serious," he answered with strong resolve, tilting his head down in hopes of touching his chin to the top of her head. "Do you want me to join your guild? I will. Just tell me what I need to do."

She sobbed. "This isn't about guilds versus the empire."

"Then what is it about?"

"Nothing I can discuss with you right now, Schwann," she answered in a pathetic, quivering voice. A trembling hand touched the side of his face, her palm rough with calluses from her bow. He knew where each and every one was—he'd touched those hands so many times. And now, they were about to slip away. Just like that.

"Why not?" he asked, the tears stinging his eyes and threatening to fall. At least the blindfold wouldn't let her see him cry. He rubbed his cheek against her hand against it before desperately kissing her fingers. He had to feel her. He needed to hold onto her, _somehow_. "I swore my life to you. I would die for you, Casey. Doesn't that mean anything to you anymore?"

"Don't say that," she whispered, her lips so close to his that he could smell the tears on her cheeks.

He tried to kiss her, to remind her of how things should be—how they had to be. But she pulled away. "Casey," he implored, nearly whimpering her name, but not daring to raise his voice. Not when he had her this close. "Casey…I mean it. If you won't let me stay here with you, kill me. Kill me! Now, damn it!"

"No. I will not kill you." She touched her lips to his for a mere second; it wasn't enough to be called a kiss and barely a caress. "If you want to honor me, live for me."

Schwann felt the space between them grow and hung his head in torment. "Please." One word. That's all he could he could manage. She was strangling him in these long moments.

Nothing but shuddering tension filled the cell as she took a moment and sat down on the ground. With a pat of her hand, she guided him to sit facing her. Tears soaked each word as she strained to say them and her fingers stroked his cheek once again. "This is how it must be, Schwann. There isn't another way. You must live your life and I must live mine! Now, go, live a good life, make some woman happy and work towards all those dreams you used to tell me about. Don't ever come back to Dahngrest." She paused and let her hand drop. "And just forget about me."

"I can't forget. Those dreams—this life—mean nothing without you." He muttered the despondently acrid words, realizing there was no arguing with her. She had made up her mind.

"Don't be an idiot, Schwann," she sighed, each syllable a single breath as she rose to her feet and stepped behind him.

"Casey…please…"

She knelt behind him and held him against her, resting her cheek against his neck. "At dawn, some of my father's men will take you to Capua Torim. You should be safe to travel on your own from there."

"Casey," he pleaded, nuzzling against her damn cheek as his tears finally fell. He drew a long breath, taking in that one moment—her touch, her scent, her breath, her nearness—hoping to stop time as she held him. "Please…just let me stay with you."

She remained there for a few drawn moments as the blindfold began to dampen. Then, she gave a long, hesitant sigh and reached around his waist. He felt her hand tremble as she took her knife from his belt. "I love you, but this has to be the end. I'm sorry, Schwann."

He shook with grief, sadness, anger, frustration, desperation and about thirty other emotions he couldn't put names to as he felt her pull away.

She jerked off the blindfold and backed out of the cell, pulling the door closed. Before he could turn around to see her, to call back to her, to beg her one last time to let him help her battle whatever demons she'd found in Dahngrest, something metal resonated on the stone floor behind him.

Craning his head, he was able to see that it was the knife he had given her. And, from the darkness, he heard her say in a voice so forlorn it might as well have been a dirge, "Now we owe each other nothing."


	7. Chapter 6

**Vindication**  
Chapter Six

* * *

_**One month ago…**_

She shouldn't be here, damn it.

Mount Temza was nothing short of a battleground and Schwann was fighting on two fronts. The war had dragged on for a year now and countless had perished as the Imperial army struggled against the flying monsters. Whatever they were, they grew more agitated by the use of Hermes blastia and had attacked numerous humans who possessed them. War was soon declared as most of the Krytians sided with the beasts and no progress in battle or negotiations could be made.

Despite the stalemate and bloodshed around him, the _real_ battle was something much more personal for Schwann. It was one he didn't expect and an enemy he wasn't ready to fight. Hell, he wasn't even ready to call her an enemy, much less engage her in combat.

He'd spent the five years since leaving Dahngrest throwing himself into his work, besting men twice as experienced and garnering the respect of the other officers. It came as no surprise then, when he earned his captain's cape at the tender age of twenty-two, becoming the youngest man ever to command his own brigade.

In those five years, there were women, but none that managed to keep his attention for long. No matter how hard he'd try, he'd always find himself comparing them to _her_. For better or worse, none of them came even close to _Casey_. She'd never left his thoughts—not even once—no matter how much she'd hurt him. Time, large amounts of wine, and the other women did nothing to mend that wound, so after awhile, he just gave up on all of them.

But now, here on the battlefield of the Great War, as he walked up to the quartermaster's tent for a meeting of the captains, he blinked in disbelief and amazement as he saw her. There was no mistaking it; the pretty blonde dressed in the leathers of a guildsman was _Casey_. She didn't look much different than the last time he'd seen her, aside from a band on her arm that bore a symbol he wasn't familiar with. Whatever was being done and said around him faded into an insignificant blur as he stared at her, the inevitable questions flashing through his mind.

A man who introduced himself as Yeager appeared at her side and began showing the group weapons they had for purchase. He was a tall, thin, fellow with dark hair and a grating accent. With a smarmy grin and a grandiose gesture, Yeager also offered a bundle of "good faith" supplies that he claimed had been sent by Don Whitehorse himself. Though the Empire had often asked for an allegiance with the guilds during the war, the Don refused to take sides in the conflict. This was the first sign of cooperation and while Schwann should have been smiling with his fellow ranking officers at this sudden good fortune, all he could do was look at Casey with plaintive, desperate eyes.

He was not pleased, not in the least, and his growing frown probably betrayed that, but everyone else was too busy to notice. He flinched at the way Yeager looked at Casey while their goods were being inspected and the way his hand lilted on her arm. But, perhaps the most insulting to Schwann was when she handed him a blade to inspect and didn't even try to meet his eyes, as if she didn't know him at all.

* * *

Despite the nagging questions and heartache, it took him nearly a week to speak to her. One night, after the sun had set and the Commandant's meeting had dispersed, he made his way back to the quartermaster's tent. He was certain she'd be there, probably alone, since he'd seen her every night that week taking inventory by herself.

He spent the majority of the day wondering if he should approach her. True, he felt she owed him answers, but answers were the easy part; it was questions that raised doubts. Biting his lip, he pushed open the flap of the tent and decided this had to be done.

He stepped inside, his greaves sounding heavier than before as he approached her. She was there, kneeling as she bent over into a crate and completely oblivious to his presence. He stared at her for a long moment uncertain of what to do despite having seen this instant in his dreams for years. Finally, he sighed and said exactly what was on his mind. "I always wondered how I'd feel if I ever saw you again."

She didn't bother to turn around. "I figure you'd have had more important things to concern yourself with in the past five years, _Captain_ Schwann."

"What could be more important than us?" he asked, stepping around to try and face her.

"The war you're fighting?" she spat, standing up to look at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "The battles you swore you'd brave to see that not another child dies of starvation while the nobles feast?"

"That's not fair," he frowned, hearing her repeat promises he'd made to her in confidence not very long ago.

"What's not fair, Schwann? That I've moved on?"

"For starters. I saw what you moved on with. A fine example of a man—one who makes his living selling weapons and exploiting wars."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeager is not exploiting this war any more than the knights are."

"I'm here to fight and protect the world. He's here to make money. There's a difference."

"Not that I can see."

"You're still arrogant and only thinking of yourself?" She said, almost sadly, as she shook her head and then glared at him. "I thought you'd grow out of that vice. The world doesn't end with you, Schwann."

"I'm not thinking of myself. I'm thinking—"

"Yes, you are!" she snapped, poking him in the chest. "All you care about is this explanation you think I owe you! I gave you one and you cannot accept it!"

"Because it wasn't the truth and you damn well know it, Casey. There was more going on there. I don't know if your father had a fit because you Marked yourself for a piece of Zaphias trash or if you just gave up on me." Schwann said as he circled around her, his cape following him like a loyal dog.

A long moment held, and then she said quietly, "I never gave up on you."

"Then why send me away?"

"Just…go," she answered, holding a hand to her forehead as if pressing her thoughts together. "Go back to being a knight and wearing your shiny armor and forgetting why you became one in the first place."

He didn't move. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at her. "I still remember why I'm here. I don't think you know why you're here, though. I think you just want to pretend to be Daddy's little girl. Did he sell you to this new guild?"

She didn't hesitate to slap him across the face for the insult. "Don't _ever_ say such things about my father, Schwann. He never once spoke ill of you!"

"He only met me once," he muttered, rubbing his cheek. He'd forgotten just how hard she could hit, especially when provoked.

"And I told him about you dozens of times!" She took a breath and then added quietly, "For what it's worth, he liked you. He liked you a lot."

"Funny then, that he locked me in a dungeon that time we met!"

"It was for your own good and you know it," she sighed before looking up into his green eyes. "Please, just leave me alone, Schwann. Let things go."

"I don't want to," he answered, taking a seat on one of the crates. "There has to be a reason, Casey. There has to be something that happened between the time I saw you last and the three months later when you left me."

"Why does it matter?" she answered, sitting across from him and frowning darkly.

"Because, I _deserve_ an answer! I was your damn _husband_!" he shouted, his words straining against his voice, especially that _last_ one.

She shook her head morosely. "I told you that night, Schwann. We owe each other nothing now. Can we please just leave it at that?"

His voice rose as his temper flared. She was not going to walk away from this without telling him the reason, not _this_ time. "No, you owe me an explanation and I'm not leaving until I get it!"

"Then, I'm leaving!" she jumped off her crate and started to walk past him.

Grabbing her arm, he gently pulled her back towards him. "No, you're not."

"Get your hands off me!" she shouted, slapping at his wrist as he held her captive.

Standing up, he didn't release her. "All I need to do is claim to have caught a thief."

"And all I need to do is scream and my men will come running. I don't think they'd spare the life a knight—captain or not."

"So you don't even fight your own battles anymore?" he asked, letting her go.

She glowered at him. "You're one to talk, _Captain_ Schwann. You send your men off to die without a second thought."

"I send men into battle. They are not my bodyguards."

"They would die at your command?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then there is no difference," she answered, turning away from him.

He reached to touch her shoulder, just brushing it, barely. "I didn't come here to argue semantics with you, Casey. I just want an answer. I loved you. I still—"

She cut him off and shrugged his tiny touch away. "Don't tell me there haven't been any other women, Schwann."

"None that mattered," he answered honestly.

An oddly comfortable silence held until she faced him and spoke. "Well, I had to move on."

"I can see that," he said, rubbing the spot on his arm he'd cut in her honor all those years ago. "But I still open the wound every year, just as you told me was tradition."

"It's time to let it heal, Schwann," she said, tenderly touching the mark through his shirt. She knew exactly where it was—she'd _always_ know exactly where it was.

"I don't want to let it heal," he answered, touching his rough, calloused hand to hers over the mark. "I don't want to forget."

"Maybe I don't either," she whispered as she hesitantly pulled away from him. "But it's the way things must be, Schwann."

"Then at least tell me," he said desperately. "Tell me, so I don't wonder each and every day what it was that I did that drove you away!"

"It wasn't you," she replied quietly, her dark eyes filling with resolve—resolve and a hint of regret. "It was never you." A long moment passed as silence choked the two of them, her hands shaking slightly as she finally gave in. "I can see you aren't going to retreat from this battle unless I tell you what you want to hear."

"I want the truth," he begged. "Is that so much to ask?"

A long, tense breath escaped her lips and she took a slim, silver compact out of her jacket pocket. The crest of Leviathan's Claw was embossed on the lid and her finger traced it thoughtfully as if she were considering her next strategy. Meeting his gaze, there was another moment of hesitation before she opened it and held it out towards him. "Look."

He did as she asked, taking the small token and studying the two photographs it contained. One was of her father and a blonde boy about four or five years old. The other was of Yeager. He tried not to frown at _that_ one, and was quite unsuccessful.

"The boy there, his name is Harry," she said. "He's my son."

Schwann looked up at her with astonishment. His breath caught in his throat and his voice cracked on the words he tried to speak and their implications. "Is he—"

"No, he's not yours," she said quickly—perhaps a little too quickly—as she snatched the compact back from his grasp. Holding her gaze firm on his confused and distraught eyes, she said plainly, "I cheated on you with someone in my brigade. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to leave the knights and go back to where I really belonged."

"Who?" he asked, his emotions barely contained behind the single syllable.

"It doesn't matter, he's dead," she answered with a flippant wave of her hand that seemed far too deliberate and not matched to her somber tone. "Anyway, there's the truth. I wronged you, and I couldn't ask you to raise another man's son, just as I couldn't ask you to leave the life you've known forever and join the guilds. Neither would have been good for any of us, Schwann, and you know it."

There were reasons he'd been expecting—the Guilds were her home, he was too involved with the knights, her father refused to give his blessing. But _this_? He hadn't been expecting _this_, and just didn't know what to say. Perhaps he should've comforted her, but damn if his pride wouldn't let him. Taking a step back, he did his best to hide the disgust he felt from his expression.

"I did what was best for Harry," she said, more to herself than to him. "My father took me back and made sure I could take care of Harry in the way he deserved." She shook her head and glared at him as she issued a stern warning. "Everyone in the Union thinks his father was a guildsman who died before he was born. I beg you not to tell them otherwise. Don't speak of this at all. It's a secret-one I'm trusting you with. Not even Yeager knows the truth."

"And here I thought the guilds were immune to politics," he muttered, scowling at the name of the other man and not caring if she noticed it or not.

"No one is immune to politics. You should know that."

There was a long moment of silence before he admitted, "You've changed, Casey."

"This surprises you? It's been five years."

"No," he said, shaking his head sadly. "It has nothing to do with time passing. It has to do with your perspective on things. I mean, how could you think running away was the best answer rather than telling me the truth?"

"That comes with time, Schwann," she said, stepping backwards towards the far end of the tent. "I've become a realist. Life can make you see things for what they are once you climb down from that tower and stop believing in fairy princesses and happy endings."

"I liked you better before," he whispered, watching the space between them grow with each stride she took.

"And that is exactly my point. Things are different. We're different. Can you just accept this and leave me alone? The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end, Schwann. But it's over! Hell, it's _been_ over for years." She bit her lip before continuing, her eyes reflecting the anguish she knew she was causing him. "Schwann, it was over that night I cheated on you! But now—now, I have a good life, a man who loves me and my child and I don't want spend every waking moment dwelling on the past."

Steeling his gaze at her, he wondered if she was right. Maybe this really was the end. He gave a bow of his head and let a farewell fall from his lips, knowing it sounded far too clipped, detached, and angry, but he had to make a hasty retreat before he said something he would truly regret. "At this point, neither do I, Casey. I wish you well in all of your endeavors."

"You wanted the truth," she whispered despondently as he left, watching his cape flutter forlornly in the evening breeze behind him.

He had a response full of curses on his tongue, but he did not speak. Marching back to his tent, he knew he had brought this upon himself. He had asked for the truth, she had given it, and now knowing it, it was time to move on.

Or so he thought.

* * *

"I have a mission for you," the Commandant said, brushing a strand of his silver hair aside as he poured a drink for himself and one for Schwann.

Schwann tilted his head in curiosity. He'd come to admire Alexei in the years he'd known him. Rising up from common birth through the ranks of the knights, he'd just earned the rank of Commandant a few months before, when the last one had died in battle. Accepting the drink, he asked, "What sort of mission?"

"We can't win this war alone, Schwann," Alexei replied, dragging his finger along the lip of his glass. "There's just no way."

"What is it you propose then?"

"The guildsmen that are here— Leviathan's Claw—they have agreed to assist in securing the Don's assistance on the condition that the Empire purchases all of our weapons from them."

"Extortion," Schwann said bitterly before taking a taste of the wine.

Alexei raised his glass to his lips. "I expected no less from those fools, and I'm willing to let them assume the upper hand in the negotiations for now."

"And how do I figure in?" Schwann asked, dreading the answer.

"Yeager has agreed to send his wife—the Don's daughter—to Dahngrest with whomever I send as my envoy. He assures me that Whitehorse will not deny a plea made by his daughter, but she cannot speak for the knights. She can only support the request."

Schwann tried not to frown at his superior referring to Casey as Yeager's wife, but failed miserably. He decided to feign ignorance, though he knew full well why this was becoming his mission and his _problem_. "And you want to send me. Why?"

"I've heard some stories, Schwann," Alexei answered as he swirled his wine in his glass. "One of those stories was of an errant guildswoman who found her way into the knights and into the bed of one of my most loyal captains and trusted friends." Looking up at the other man, he finished his thought. "Of course, this was all years ago, but since you are known to her and her father, perhaps it would make the request for an alliance go a bit better."

"Or worse," he muttered. The conversation he'd had with her only two weeks ago was still causing him to lose sleep, much as he hated to admit it.

"My instincts tell me otherwise."

"It's a risk."

"It's a gamble I'm willing to take," the Commandant answered before taking a delicate sip of his drink.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think this is a good idea."

"You're going to do it, Schwann," Alexei said with narrowed eyes. "You're going to do it or everyone in the Empire is going to learn about your dirty little secret. So far, those of us who know about your indiscretions are merely a handful, and we are willing to overlook it in favor of your merits." He tented his hands together in front of his lips before adding: "I don't know that the Union will be as forgiving of her when they find out she was the wife of an Imperial Knight."

"I don't like being blackmailed," Schwann answered, firmly setting his glass down on the other man's desk. He really wished Alexei would just leave Casey out of this. As much as she'd hurt him, she didn't deserve to be used as a pawn in this insane game of war.

The Commandant shook his head. "I don't like resorting to it. We are friends, but I'm not willing to lose the chance to win this war over your broken heart, Schwann."

"She doesn't care for me anymore," he replied, the painfully truthful words tasting like vinegar. "She hasn't for years."

Alexei stood up and stepped closer to him. "I doubt that."

He gave a tired sigh. "It's the truth, sir."

"Perhaps you are just oblivious then," Alexei said with a malicious smirk. "She has been watching you. Every morning while you're drilling your men, I see her pretending to busy herself with her wares as she stares longingly at you. I'll bet it irritates Yeager beyond words, especially since she isn't particularly discreet about it."

"Regardless, I doubt she remembers me," he said, half of him wishing what his commanding officer said was the truth and the other half hoping it to be a lie.

Alexei clasped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. "Then, _remind_ her, Schwann."


End file.
